


Hardcover

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Series: | January 2016 Prompt Challenge | [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Author!Stiles, Daddy!Derek, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Papa!Stiles, daughter!Talia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is on a book tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hardcover

**Author's Note:**

> So many comments have been requests for sequels, and I've kept quiet about it for several reasons. One of which is I've already continued some of the universes in later prompts. This is a continuation of the universe from Prompt 15: [My Bag is Packed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6153343).
> 
> Oh, and fun fact, [there are wolves in northern California now](http://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-ln-california-wolf-pack-08132015-story.html), and they are, in fact, being known as the Shasta Pack–-a mated pair, and their six pups! Super exciting!

“And now, reading from his new book, _Shaping Our Shasta_ , New York Times’ Best-Seller, Stiles Stilinski!”

Stiles stood to a round of applause, something that still baffled him, and his face heated with his signature blotchy blush. He raised a hand to both greet and calm the crowd, his smile more sheepish than humble as he strode to the podium. This was his second most-hated part of success—the public readings. His extroversion came from his anxiety; his placating smiles often mistaken for genuine enjoyment, and his desire to please and impress a misguided instinct to deflect attention as quickly as possible. Despite his distaste for public appearances, for public speaking, for anything, really, that had every set of eyes on him, Stiles was a skilled and engaging orator. He was animated and sincere, his body language open, welcoming. He was good at writing, and he was good at reading his writing.

And he hated it.

A copy of his book sat waiting for him at the podium, the cover art—some stylistic rendition of a pair of wolves with their pups he had no part in developing—gleaming with its glossy finish. Its glare was blinding, even in the low light of the intimate bookstore setting. He had a note card in his pocket of the pages he’d read from, of the excerpts he’d share to entice people to spend the upwards-of-twenty-five-dollars for a hardcover first printing. A signing and a few moments with the author organized to sweeten the deal.

 _Shaping Our Shasta_ was his first crack at something broaching memoir, and an anxiously awaited addition to his ever-evolving resume. A fiction writer at heart, Stiles had a story he believed worth sharing, even while protecting those who lived it behind a veil of misdirection and authorial license.

He cleared his throat and smiled again, flushing anew at the sheer size of his audience. Every inch of space capable of being occupied—save for the very stops of bookshelves—was filled with a body, a person, wanting to hear what he’d written. It overwhelmed him. “Hi,” he said. Nervousness was absent from his voice through sheer repetition. After weeks of other such readings, he’d mastered the art of quelling his own nerves. “I want to start by thanking you all for coming out for this. I know it’s cold as hell outside and miserable to boot, so thanks for braving such awful and dangerous conditions. I’ll try to make it worth your while.” He flashed his winning smile, the charming, shy one his publicist described as the slate-cleaner: the moment he donned it, any and all thought was wiped from the person’s mind, leaving them a clean slate for whatever he was about to say. It had its desired effect, and the audience laughed.

“Okay, so a little bit of an intro. In case you don’t already know, this story is really important to me,” he explained. “Not that my other works _aren’t_ important, but this one hits really close to home, and I’ve shared in part or witnessed a lot of the protagonist’s experiences. It took me a long time to write something satisfying to both myself and my editors, so I hope you’ll be satisfied with it, too. As you may or may not know, depending upon how internet savvy you are, my husband and I grew up in a small town in northern California, and recently, a wolf pack decided to settle down there after, like, some sixty some-odd years of being, basically, extinct. And it really moved me, this idea of wolves sort of…taking time away from all the violence and persecution, almost as if they knew they had to wait for hearts and minds to change, before coming back home. So this story tries to embody that idea, this idea of distancing yourself from home before returning and reclaiming it—how it’s both an act of rebellion and of healing, ya know?”

Murmured agreements and nodding heads encouraged him to continue.

“So I’m going to read from a chapter that not’s quite a quarter of the way in, just to show you how the beginning of that process looks, this recognition. Here, our protagonist, Alrik Conner, is starting to realize how terribly toxic everything is for him, and he’s grappling with a sense of self-sacrificing duty against a more animalistic instinct to run. Alright, here we go, so…

“ _It was almost biblical, cyclical, this self-eating, self-destructing snake of a life he lived. If it wasn’t so tragic, it might have been funny; something penned by a sadistic author who refused to erase, to let him have one fucking do-over. Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, he returned over and over again to his birthplace, where the charred remains of his loved ones made the ground beneath his feet…”_

And so the reading went.

Stiles read paragraphs and dialogues, philosophical musings and an understanding that only came with time, age, and distance from the horrors of Beacon Hills. How he and Derek had survived the malicious summons of the Nemeton, each of them iron forged through fire. They’d hurt each other as much as supernatural violence hurt them, but they’d somehow survived, coming out the other side better and stronger for it, depending upon how the tale was spun. And in _Shaping Our Shasta_ , that’s exactly how Stiles decided to spin it. No one needed to know how one or both of them would wake in the night, terrified the sticky sweat on his hands was, in fact, blood. No one needed to know how often the vacant eyes of a beloved husband haunted both his and Derek’s dreams. No one needed to know how desperately they clung to each other, how fire and possession, and the involuntary use of this one’s hands, this one’s face, that one’s trust caused so much death and destruction.

No. Let them think Alrik and Simon got their happy ending. Trauma was present enough in the world, and there was no need to expose his and Derek’s, even under the veil of fiction.

Besides, Stiles didn’t want Talia to make the connection until she was much _much_ older, and a frank discussion of her fathers’ grotesque and gory history was appropriate.

By the end of the reading, a few faces were tear-streaked, others awe-struck, and Stiles was simply exhausted. His voice was a little sore from overuse, despite the bottle of water the bookstore graciously provided, so he kept his tone soft and low, his smiles small and intimate when the time came for him to sit at a table and write his name countless times on the cover page of his new book.

“Who am I making this one out to?” he asked as another book slid across the table into his awaiting grasp. He had staff to take the book from the patron, turn to the proper page, and hand it to him to sign—a process that, though efficient, was still alien to him. He held the cap of the pen between his teeth, his third ballpoint since the beginning of the signing, and swished and swooped his signature beneath his printed name.

“Derek,” came the reply.

Stiles laughed without immediately looking up. “That’s my husband’s name. How do you spell yours?”

“D-E-R-E-K.”

“You spell it the way he does, too.”

“Oh, and Talia. T-A-L-I-A. Derek and Talia.”

Stiles snapped his head up fast enough for his shoulders to pop, and there, standing opposite the rickety table, was Derek, Talia by his side. He clasped her hand firmly, but she was hardly tall enough to see over the edge of the table.

“Hi, Papa!” she chirped. Her big Hale eyes, her daddy’s eyes, shimmered bright and overjoyed for a brief moment until they were buried beneath the width of her smile.

“Oh my God!” Stiles blinked away tears he didn’t expect, and he stood up fast enough for his chair to fall. “Oh my God! You’re here! I can’t believe you’re here! What are you doing here? Oh my God!” He rushed around the table and swept his daughter into arms that ached to hold her, and kissed her with lips that hadn’t met her soft skin or silky hair in weeks.

Derek, for his part, fit easily against Stiles’ side, wrapping an arm around his waist. Pressing a kiss to his temple, he said, “She missed you. I did, too.”

“His husband is here! Stiles’ husband and daughter are here!”

The whispers and excitement rippled through what remained of the reading crowd. Phone camera shutters clicked and hissed, and LEDs flashed from all angles of the room.

As a rule, Stiles tried to keep Derek and Talia out of the limelight of his fame, but in this moment, he didn’t care. Let Tumblr and Twitter and Facebook flood with images of the tears he hastily wiped with his sweater sleeve. Let them gif video of he and Derek kissing. Let them comment and critique and lust after and ship them. Because the thing Stiles hated most about his success was how it kept him away from the family he and Derek literally risked their lives to start and have and protect.

Like the Shasta wolves, they’d been chased from their home, and only after it was safe enough to do so, had Derek and Stiles brought their pup back to northern California.

“I missed you both so much,” Stiles sighed. A tightness in his chest he’d learned to ignore eased when Talia tucked her face beneath his chin and breathed. The pup scenting her father calmed even his human nerves. “What are you doing in Boston?”

“I had some vacation days saved, and Talia wanted to see snow,” Derek answered with a casual shrug, though how he hovered close to his husband—his mate—and lingered within scenting distance didn’t escape Stiles. “She was howling in her sleep for you,” he murmured low into Stiles’ ear. “I couldn’t keep her from you if I could help it.”

The cameras continued to flash, a sea of cell phones aimed at them in their moment.

Stiles said, “I’m sorry I have to leave so often.”

“We understand,” Derek insisted. “We just missed you.” He eased Talia from Stiles’ hold. Though Stiles was strong enough to carry and support her, their daughter never looked safer than in her daddy’s arms.

“When will you be done, Papa?” Talia asked. She knew better than to cling to him when Derek took her, but the instinct to want to was evident in her imploring gaze.

“In a little while,” Stiles answered. “See all the people here? They all want Papa to sign their book, so once I’ve done that for them, then we can go, okay?”

She nodded.

“We’ll meet you in the café,” Derek promised. He took Stiles by the jaw and kissed him, firm and possessive. Stiles flushed when he felt, more than heard, his claiming growl.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sure thing.”

The questions people asked as he continued the book signing focused more on his daughter and husband, both of whom he was more than happy to brag about. Both of whom were waiting for him, just scant feet away. Feet, not miles. And Stiles, though hardly a wolf, was content in the proximity of his pack.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: [Prompt 15: My Bag is Packed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6153343)
> 
> Part 3: [ Prompt 31: Under Water](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6295447)
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
